


Celebrity Bake Off!

by fouryearslaterdrabbles (CheshireCatLife)



Category: Red White & Royal Blue - Casey McQuiston
Genre: Alternate Universe - The Great British Bake Off Fusion, Anger, Baking, Inspired by The Great British Bake Off, M/M, because Alex is just like that, but in a very cute way
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-01
Updated: 2020-03-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:29:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22975570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CheshireCatLife/pseuds/fouryearslaterdrabbles
Summary: Alex didn't want to do Celebrity Bake Off.Then Henry smiled.Oh god, he was going to do it, wasn't he?
Relationships: Alex Claremont-Diaz/Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor
Comments: 7
Kudos: 118





	Celebrity Bake Off!

**Author's Note:**

> I found this snippet lying around and liked it enough to post it. It's such a shame there's not more out there but I thought, no matter how short, I should just publish this now and put forward my contribution to this lovely book.

“I am _not_ doing Celebrity Bake Off.”

“It’ll be fun,” Henry supplies cheerfully, a falsely bright veneer to dig that bit further into Alex. “Who knows, maybe you’ll win,” he adds and goddamit, he’s tapped into the competitive streak. “It’s for charity, Alex, and you’ll be doing it with me. Won’t you do it? Please?” For a moment, Alex is determined he’ll say no. He will. He’s going to. He doesn’t want to do it and-

He falls flat in the face of Henry’s charming English lilt and the seemingly never-ending arguments.

“Fine,” he capitulates, “but I’m not going to enjoy it.”

“We’ll see.” Henry smiles and begins to strut off when Alex grabs his arm.

“Oh no you don’t. If we’re doing this, I’m getting my reward first.” It’s enough to trick Alec into thinking this will be alright.

~*~

This is a godforsaken competition and Alex hates it. He’s surrounded by a bunch of Brits he’s never met and has to watch Henry artistically piece together a great creation, _which Alex didn’t even know he was capable of_ , and awkwardly try to shape his own botched cookies into something edible, as if he actually has any clue what he’s doing. On top of all that, the audiences of America are apparently relying on him to represent their country well.

Which he really isn’t.

Look, his father taught him some stuff, but it certainly wasn’t _baking_. Let him cook up some of his favourites and you’ll be at least a little proud that he didn’t burn them. Making him bake a cake is like a taunt. Because seriously, every time he’s gone to England, he’s destroyed a cake. Well, maybe not every time. But he’s damn well done it a lot.

Oh dear God, he’s starting to sound like Henry.

Is this what the future’s going to be like? Is he slowly going to turn into a posh, English prince? He likes his Texan accent; it’s fun. He doesn’t want to be posh. Why can’t Henry pick up an _American_ accent, he wallows. Then he could make fun of him _and_ not have to try and hide his utter infatuation with his elongated vowels and crooked English smile.

As he tries desperately stares at the burnt cookies, the cameras turn and the two presenters make their way towards him and all he can think is _please don’t talk to me, please don’t talk to me, please don’t talk to me_.

They talk to him.

“Alex!” They shout, overly bright. The man with the gothic hair is staring balefully at his uncooked cookies (ha! They even have _cooked_ in the name). “How’s it going?”

“Good,” he lies, as he sees Henry watching him out of the corner of his eye. “Really good.”

The other woman, who looks a bit more perky, tries to cheer him up, even though he’s given a pretty clear indication that he’s fine. That says it all, really. They leave him alone pretty quickly, though, leaving him only at the mercy of the front cameras, which capture the picture of the whole room. But there’s still someone else he hasn’t spoken to yet. “Hello, Alex.”

“Gah!” Alex gasps, holding a hand over his heart. “How did you do that?”

“Do what?”

“I hate you,” he mutters under his breath. God, he thinks suddenly, only a year ago he would have thought he’d meant that.

“And why’s that? Is it…them.”

“I’m fine!” He defends.

“I never said you weren’t but…well, do you want any help? It’s what I came over to offer.”

“I don’t need help,” he says stubbornly. “I can get by on my own.”

“Captain America references aren’t going to help those cookies.” It’s their new thing, the Marvel films. Henry hadn’t seen them and Alex had claimed that is was blasphemy, stating Iron Man to be his childhood. Then Henry had gone and fallen in love with _Captain America_ of all characters (he’s literally an English prince! What the hell!). Still, Alex knew enough quotes and wasn’t afraid to bring them out. It would never hold the same power as Star Wars, but it would get close.

“I have them on the ropes.”

“That one barely makes sense.”

“But it does make _some_ sense.”

“I really don’t think it does.”

“Well, sucks for you that you don’t understand my utter genius.” Alex smiles down at his cookies, despite their monstrous formation, and tries to pretend that having Henry here isn’t helping just in itself. “And anyway, don’t you have a masterpiece to finish?”

“It’s in the oven, not much I can do now.”

“I hope it burns whilst you’re over here.”

“No you don’t.” Alex glares but doesn’t refute. Henry’s right. But he’s not going to admit that, is he? “Are you sure you don’t want help?”

“Very.”

He comes to regret that shortly after.

After twenty minutes of trying to un-burn his cookies, and then trying to add the chocolate chips _after_ burning them, Alex is just about ready to die. Literally just die. His mother would be determinedly not be proud (and that was a feat in itself). June would laugh in his face, he thinks. Nova would do that thing where she’d calculate just how much he’d overdone them just to rub it in his face.

Now, they’re being put up in front of the judges, ready to be ridiculed (nicely, of course, this is England) for YouTube clips. God, he’s been spending too much time with Henry just by the fact that he knows that.

(And sure, ‘Bake Off’ is a great guilty pleasure, but it’s _Henry’s_ , Alex would take ‘Chopped’ any day of the week).

He’s standing there, sweat pooling at his hairline, whilst Henry casually waits, looking every bit the royal he is. Casual, Alex has now learnt, simply means that his face gets a bit softer, and his posture just that bit less rigid. He still stands tall, like he’s got a crown on his head already, and is hidden by about five layers of secrecy. Still, the public has peeled most of them off by now. But they’re Henry’s coping mechanism, and they’ll get round to doing something about that soon.

“Okay, so let’s try the first one.” Alex is pretty sure he’s missed at least five minutes of speech but he can’t find it within himself to care. They’re all covered by a cloth, a new thing this year to give the show some more oomph. Ratings aren’t low by any means, but they try to keep things fresh. I mean, they literally brought a prince on this year, they’re _really_ trying to keep things fresh.

And they also brought the FSOTUS who also happened to be the prince’s boyfriend…but that’s a different matter entirely.

They unveil the first bake, which has Henry’s name card placed in front of it and-

Dear Lord. Alex could see he was doing well but that is _insane_. It looks almost as good as that £75,000 cake they knocked over at his brother’s wedding. In fact, it looks very similar. Almost uncanny. Henry is smirking, so subtly that only Alex can see, and he knows exactly what’s he done. He also knows that he’s gaping. And the presenters are on him immediately.

He has to be careful. There’s still only so much he can say on TV. His reputation maintains a lot of other people’s now. But there’s nothing more he’d like to do right now than push Henry into that cake as revenge and sabotage the entire competition. It looks amazing, and delicious, and down right taunting.

The antagonist side of their relationship bubbles up as always and Alex serenely answers questions with a face that tells Henry _I am going to murder you in your sleep later and you cannot stop me_.

“So, what do you think of your new love’s creation?” They ask, like their scandal is any way _new_ (come on! It’s been a few months, let it go. Please?).

“Absolutely beautiful, just like him,” he says with a saccharine smile. So sweet, in fact, that he hopes it rots Henry’s teeth until he can’t eat anymore and starves to death. It suddenly feels like the old days again and Alex wonders where these emotions had been hiding all along. Maybe it’s the fact that this isn’t Henry’s usual trick. No, this has Alex written all over it. Yet Henry did it.

Maybe they’re rubbing off on each other…

The crowd, presumably, laugh and smile and aw and all that other shit, and then the judges give their fawning comments before they move onto the next one. And the next one. And the next one. And-

It’s his.

They unveil it and muted laughter gathers in the room. Frankly, Alex doesn’t think it’s any worse than the b-list comedian, who’s pavlova caved in on itself (which, seriously, was that even possible?). And, come on, it’s only a little worse than the female presenters, who’s outfit is beautiful but who’s cake is definitely not.

The judges seem to think otherwise.

“I think this may be the worst set of cookies I’ve ever seen.” And this show was supposed to be _nice_. He flush with embarrassment but holds his head high. He’s survived fucking political elections without so much as a breakdown (or maybe just a few, anyhow), he can hold his head high in the face of a judgmental British woman and an old-looking guy that also looks very, very young (it’s peculiar). “And they’re rock hard,” the old-young guy says as he (tries to) bite into it. “How long did you have them in the oven?”

Alex shrugs. “I just kept an eye on them until they looked done. I don’t know how much time it was in the end.” Looks of horror descend on him. Except for Henry, who looks like this was his plan all along and is smug as _a prince always fucking is_.

“Did the recipe have a time?”

Alex shrugs. “Didn’t see one.”

“Well that explains a lot,” he mutters under his breath and moves onto the next one without so much as a single compliment, giving Henry a suspicious side eye as if their relationship should make Alex _any_ better at baking.

This show was an awful idea.

They’re waved off soon after and the cameras are shut down a long while after and they’re sent home. Since they’re filming in Berkshire, they’ve decided to stay in Bagshot Park. It’s not the closest place but it’s a royal building and it’s the only thing Henry’s grandmother will allow (not that they often listen to her anymore). Alex complains about how the journey is unnecessary and out of tax payers pockets on the way there, whilst Henry tries to calm him down and say they’ll get somewhere closer to whatever event they go to next time.

They decidedly do not talk about the show until they’re in the privacy of their bedroom.

“So, how was it?”

Alex spins on his toe and gets right up into Henry’s space. “The worst bloody thing I’ve ever had to do.”

“Wow. How English of you.”

“Don’t do you dare.” Henry smiles but stays quiet; it’s just how he is. Alex kinda wants him to shout so he can shout _louder_. He’s pent up and angry for no reason. He knows, reasonably, that this isn’t about the show. Not entirely. But either way, the energy needs to be released.

Well, whilst in the bedroom.


End file.
